I am ‘So here’s the thing’ Mum…

“You will , you know!”

Everyone is the perfect parent…until they have children.”

Who said this first? I have no idea.

Who says it now? Me. Every single day!

I am the proud and enthusiastic Mama bear of a 5-year-old Drama Queen and a 21 month old Dictator. I spend my days winging it through EVERYTHING… breakfast, school runs, work, homework, dinner, bedtime, marriage.

Some days, I feel like I NEARLY have my shit together. Most days, I want to stomp my foot, throw and tantrum and call for my own Mammy! To many, I seem like I hold things together.

Those closest to me, know I’m a fraud.

I don’t know what I’m doing.

I don’t deal with everything in a calm and mature fashion.

I don’t adore my children every single second of every single day.

I don’t always have the schedule sorted.

I don’t always remember everything I’m supposed to.

I don’t always know what’s wrong with the baby, just by her cry.

I don’t always have a sparkly clean house. (Actually, I don’t EVER. Who does?)

I don’t always remember to wash the uniforms.

I don’t always want to get my No Diggity on in the bedroom.

I don’t always feed them homemade meals.

I don’t always give the right answer.

I don’t always say the right thing.

I don’t switch off my brain, even when it’s His turn to get up with them.

I can’t.

Because I “Mammy” 24 hours a day, 7 days a week.

Sometimes, I yell.

Sometimes, I bribe.

Sometimes the fridge is empty.

Sometimes, I’m so exhausted that I let them eat breakfast cereal for dinner.

Sometimes, I pretend I don’t hear the monitor and carefully kick Daddy so he’ll have to get up instead.

Sometimes, I let them watch TV…a lot.

Sometimes, I swear.

Sometimes, I wish it were bedtime at 3pm.

Sometimes, I cry so hard that my Husband doesn’t know what to say.

Sometimes, I like being at work because I get to finish a coffee in peace…and I don’t feel guilty. Sometimes, I get a babysitter and go out for dinner.

Sometimes, I hand the baby to Himself as he comes through the door and go for a run, or a pee. Sometimes, I feel like I’m so utterly useless that someone, somewhere will certainly report me to an authority of some kind.

But ALWAYS, I love. I am NOT a Stepford Mammy. I will never get it ALL right. No one can, because a perfect Mammy doesn’t exist, and as long as I love my girls fiercely, I’m already doing it right.

The moment that a Mammy realises that there is no such thing as “The right way” or “the proper way” of parenting, is light bulb moment. When you recognise that YOUR choices for your family are NO ONE’s business, a giant weight will be lifted off your tired shoulders.

You don’t have to justify your parenting. You don’t have to explain why you breastfeed, or don’t; why you chose this school instead of that one; why you put the baby in their own room at 3 months, or why they still sleep in your room 2 years on.

You don’t have to justify your parenting to ANYONE.

The ONLY people who matter in your home, are YOUR FAMILY. And nothing or nobody outside of that matters. If you are expecting your first Baby and reading this, with your jaw on the floor, thinking “I will NEVER do those things!”, You will you know!?

You will bribe.

You will eat leftovers.

You will survive on 2 hours of broken sleep.

You will use Babywipes for EVERYTHING.

You will hate your partner for sleeping. (Sometimes, you will hate them for breathing! 🙂 )

You will enjoy watching kids’ TV.

You will have a favourite CBeebies presenter.

You will spend your money on the best you can afford for your kids, while wearing a 15-year-old t-shirt yourself.

You will be so excited at the offer of a babysitter, that you cry. Oh, and you will cry; tears of frustration, tears of worry, tears of laughter and tears of pure, unconditional LOVE.

Because being a Mammy is sometimes crap, but it is ALWAYS wonderful.

And if you are wondering if you’ll be a good Mum?

You will, you know. x

I am Such a GENIUS Mum 😘

Mammy is a genius.

A feckin genius I tell you.

As Mini-Me’s ability to COMPLETELY ignore me becomes increasingly professional, I find myself sometimes wondering HOW the FECK to get her to do even the most simple daily tasks?

My orders, my requests and any other hint of a suggestion of her doing something that might please me, seem to float around her head, never quite making contact with her ears. Usually, it’s only when I SHOUT or SCREAM that she eventually acknowledges that my voice HAS in fact been sending massive soundwaves in her direction.

She’s just chosen NOT to surf them. 😂

And even when she finally acknowledges that I’ve asked her to do something, she still finds 162 ways to procrastinate or forget or simply not be able to do it.

“Put on your Pjs please Darling.”

“Put on your Pjs please Darling.”

“Put on your Pjs please Darling.”

“Put on your Pjs please Darling.”

“Put on your Pjs please Darling.”

“Mini-Me I am not going to ask you again…”

“Whaaaaaaaaat?!” (Add eye roll or exasperated sigh for effect.)

“I’ve asked you to Put on your Pjs. Get them on right now.”

“But where ARE they?” (Still watching Tellybox/making jigsaw/rolling on the floor etc…)

“Wherever you left them. Now go put them on!”😡

“But…” insert random WTF-inducing excuse/problem/comment here.

“PUT ON YOUR PJS NOOOOOOOOOOW!” Screaming BansheeMammy appears.

“Okay! Okay!” Stomps down hall, muttering something about “no need to shout”. (Little twatsickle.)

Mammy sighs in deluded, false victory, before being interrupted by “MAMMEEEEEEE. I can’t FIND them!” or some other shite like that, then stomps down hall, muttering and swearing to find her standing right in FRONT of the fucking Pajamas, which are the ONLY thing lying on the floor, but which are seemingly fucking INVISIBLE to my daughter.

Cue scolding, fighting, retaliation, defiance, huffing, puffing, threatening, snarling, crying and Mammy eventually putting the fecking things ON HER. (It’s that or throw them AT HER. Bad Mammy. No! Terrible thoughts Mammy.)

Different night, same old shite. Until tonight. Tonight, Mammy is a genius. The requesting, finding and putting ON of the fecking PJs took a whole 1 MINUTE AND 37 SECONDS.

I SHIT YOU NOT.

Why?

Because as I was about to ask her for the first time to “Put on your Pjs please Darling”, I opened the cupboard and spotted this👇👇👇 and I had a brainwave.

“Oooooh look what Mammy found! I know, let’s have a race!” (Singsongy voice, think Mary-of-the-poppins.) “I’m going to time you to see how quickly you can put on ypu Pjs. Will we see what number we can get?”

“Yay! I LOVE races!”

“On your marks, get set…GO!” And I swear to God, she slid sideways back into the kitchen, fully dressed in her fricken PJs, a whole minute and a half later…

“Did I beat it?” (Not sure what she’s beating, but when it stops me wanting to beat my head off a brick wall, I’ll roll with it! 😂😂)

“Of course you did, you are AMAZING!” And it was.

Amazing.

And I am a genius.

And I will try it again tomorrow night, but she’ll probably have copped on to me by then.

Ah well, I’ll enjoy it while it lasts. 😂😂😂 How was your day? 😘😘😘

I am Shouting in my Car Mum

It’s Rally Weekend.  

Yay…

Can you sense my enthusiasm?

(Swearing alert. If your eyes are easily offended, click on by!) 😘😘

I found myself talking out loud to some other drivers on the road last night. 

 Here are some of the things that, usually, I would have said in my Car every year over Rally weekend.  But obviously, because of my walking-talking swear jar and Little miss Repeatyarse in the back seat, I can’t indulge as usual this year.  Instead, let me get them out of my system here…
“WTF is THAT yok?”

“Is that even a real car?” 

“Shit there must be a checkpoint…nope… just GOBSHITES holding up the traffic.”

“Are you for real? Dumbass…”

“You’re not an ACTUAL FUCKING RALLY DRIVER YOU TWAT!”

“Did I SAY you could pull out in front of me?”

“Go ahead there. Pull on out! You were going anyway. I’ll just sit here shall I?”

“You’re driving a CAR, not a feckin aeroplane, you twat.”

“There are more wings on thon yok than there are wheels”.

“WTF?  Am I invisible?”

“Did you not SEEEEEEE my big fucking car?”

“Oh yeah, you are soooooooooo cool.  brrrrrrm brrrrrrrrm…Dickhead.”

“Did you not SEEEEEEE my indicator?”

“Did you stick a tumbledrier onto your car wee pet?”

“How can he even see over the fucking wheel?”

“Thon buck’s lying down.  Look! He’s driving the car, lying on his back!?”

“That car’s driving itself!  Oh wait, no,  There’s a wee head there.”

“Brrrrrrrm  BBBROOOOOOOOOOMM  BRRRRRMMMMMMMM”

“OMG. You are SOOOOOOOOOOOOO cool…”

“Gobshite.”

“Stupid twat.” 

“Don’t you fecking dare pull out there.”

“YOU ARE NOT IN THE FUCKING RALLY!”

“Oh is there an invisible lane for DICKHEADS?”

“GET OFF MY ASS YOU TWAT.”

“WTF?”

(In fairness, I have been known to say quite a few of these things at other drivers, every other weekend of the year too. )😂😂
NOW.  Let me clarify. 
 I have nothing against the rally.  🚘🚘🚘
The ACTUAL rally.  
Where the qualified and experienced sports people rally as safely as they can, within the realms of the RALLY. Where the “sport” of rallying is carried out properly and the drivers are respectful of the roads and the people who live on them.  I love the buzz and business it brings to the town.  I don’t follow it myself, but I don’t HAVE to.  I get what people love about it and it’s fantastic for our county.
It’s a brilliant event, well run and exciting for those who follow it. 🖒🖒
What I hate however, are the Gobshites who THINK they are in the rally. 😡😡😡

Who declare themselves Rally Fans, when really it’s just an excuse for them to stand around  comparing the size of their knobs and pipes at various locations, nowhere NEAR the ACTUAL rally.  

Who pollute our ears with their stupid car growls and revving at every opportunity. 

 Who for some reason think it’s cool to make circles and 8s all over our lanes and roadways in the middle of the night, while the REAL rally drivers are in bed.. 

Who THINK they are in the rally, even though they go NOWHERE near the stage that day. Who make us have to reconsider using certain roads on our journeys because we know that that is where they like to meet up and pretend to be rally drivers. 

Who risk the lives of others because, well, because they’re gobshites really.  
Yeah.   So, I don’t like the TWATS.  
And now, because I am a LAYDEE, (and I have vented here), my little Darlings shall not have to listen to my colourful language in the car.  Instead, they can watch all the cool, colourful, ACTUAL rally cars and Mammy can practice her lipsync skills in the front seat. 
Go on.  What are your favourite things to say/shout in your car?

And if you don’t shout at other drivers, we probably can’t be friends anymore.
Good luck to the REAL rally drivers in the REAL rally by the way. And to the ACTUAL rally fans who FOLLOW the rally,   I do hope you all have a safe and brilliant weekend.
 I won’t shout at YOU, I promise. 😂

I am Sad Mum

Everytime I start writing tonight, I find myself lost for words…
It seems inappropriate to make jokes and poke fun at my little world today.  It seems wrong to joke about anything tonight.

I can’t even bear to imagine what the families affected by last night’s massacre are dealing with today.
I can’t imagine what the emergency services and hospital staff have been dealing with.
I wanted to hug each and every one of my students today.  In every image I see of missing and lost children this evening, I see their smiles, their poses, their innocence.  And the fact that such terror can happen so close to home, is a terrifying reminder of just how quickly life can change for any of us.
Until this morning, I didn’t know who Arianna Grande was. Tonight, I feel so much sympathy and sadness for her. I really do. Such sadness.
Today, my minions were their usual delightful, devilish, rascalish, sibling-battering, screaming selves.

But they are here.

They are well.

They are mines.

And all the little things that I give out about, and complain about and scold about every other day, I breathed in deep today.
They’re tucked up in bed now, safe and blissfully oblivious to the evil cowardice that resides in our communities.

I’ve held them a little closer. I’ve kissed them an extra time. I’ve cuddled them a little tighter…

I’m sure we all have?
And, like every parent here, watching the devestation across the water, I’ve cried for our neighbours in Manchester.
I send my love, as futile as that may be, to everyone.

#manchester

💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙

I am Smashed Cup Mum

​What do you get when you cross a cup and a bin lorry?

Let me tell you a story on this Fablis Friday evening…
Once upon a time, there was a little girl called Princess Mini-Me.  One day, OVER a year ago, Granny brought Mini-Me to a pottery cafe.  

Mini-Me painted a cup, much like the one in the image below.  As Mini-Me was just about to become a Big Sister, they decided that the cup would hereforth be known as “Big Sister cup”.


Cute so far eh?
Mini-Me brought her new cup home and for 3 whole months, the Big Sister Cup sat in the cupboard, where Mini-Me pretty much ignored it, apart from the odd day when she took a notion to ask for it.
Then, one fateful, cursed day, Mini-Me dropped the cup and it smashed into 3 million Smithereens, all over the kitchen floor. Cinderella’s glass slipper didn’t have a look in and THIS fairy Good-GOD-mother, didn’t have a CHANCE of fixing it.  
And so the Big Sister Cup went to the big cupboard in the sky.  OK, I exaggerate.  It went INTO the bin, AWAY in the Bin Lorry and OUT of our minds…


A few months later, it was mentioned again out of the blue.
We drove past a Bin Lorry. She started to shout “Follow THAT BIN LOWEEEEE!” and “BIG SISTER CUP!”

We laughed (Hahahaha!) and hugged her and gently explained, once again, that the cup was BROKEN and it was GONE.

And they all lived happily ever after…

Until this evening.
8 MONTHS LATER…As the Poor Queen S-Mum collected Mini-Me from school, she was summoned by the very lovely teacher, who informed her that Mini-Me had cried for 45 minutes after breaktime.  She was VERY upset apparently, and try as she might, Teacher could NOT figure out what had caused the Tootsy One’s meltdown.

“She kept talking about a cup for her sister?” said Teacher.

“Huh?” said S-Mum.  (Not a single clue.)

“And something about a bin lorry?”

(Penny drops.  Oh. DEAR. GOD…) 

“Aaaaaah! Darling, did you see a Bin Lorry at Breaktime?” ventured S-Mum. 

“Yush Mammy and I wanted my Big sister cup back…”
Well I won’t go into the verbal diahorrea that began projecting from my mouth to try to explain to Teacher why my Daughter had FALLEN APART at the sight of a bin lorry.  😐😐😐
Because, it’s just too fricken weird and too hilariously ridiculous and is YET another example of how S-Mum may get used to feeling COMPLETE MORTIFICATION AND CONFUSION for the foreseeable future.

It seems to come with the territory.

  It should be part of the instructions on the Pregnancy test… “Pee on stick, Wait for line, Get used to being confused about EVERYTHING.” 😂😂
So what do you get when you cross a cup with a bin lorry?
An ABSOLUTE TRAUMA which will continue to cause Mini Meltdowns WELL into the teenage years apparently.
I smell grapes.🍷🍷🍷
Happy Friday Lovelies.💖

Watch out for the Bin Lorries. 😂😂😂

I am Shame-on-Body-Shamers Mum

​PART 1…
Yes.  I’m saying it.  

Stop Body Shaming bumps.😡
Body Shaming happens to all women, of all ages, of all shapes and sizes, all the time…EVEN, believe it or not, during Pregnancy. 😲
Yes, Pregnancy…
You know that time when you are eating for two and are supposed to GLOW like a fricken Christmas Tree and your body is a temple of growth and nurture, for all to admire and be in awe of?

When you’re also a hormonal wreck, paranoid, vulnerable and particularly susceptible to tears? 😢😢

When you’re growing a PERSON inside of you; sometimes more than one, 😥and you are officially exempt from giving a continental crap about your shape for the next year and more?
 Yes. Even then.
Body shaming the Bump DOES happen.

It’s not usually intentional, but it happens.
I have a confession to make.
During my last pregnancy… (and I mean last in both senses of that word!)…I did something mean. 😈
I got so fecking SICK of people freaking out when they saw the size of my bump, that one day I decided to have a little fun with it.
I was HUMONGOUS.  (And no, I am NOT exaggerating.  Ask ANY of my family or friends and they will smile a dim smile and nod in agreement.)And just to prove how big my perfect bump was, the photograph below was taken when I was 36 weeks.  And I wasn’t quite as big as I would be at 39! 😂👇👇👇👇👇👇

With Mini-Me, I showed at 10 weeks.

With Princess, I got to 7 weeks before I got fed up trying to hide my bump.

I have always been quite slim so in fairness, trying to hide a bump was never going to be easy, but even loose tops didn’t cover my little (or not so little) secret.  

We never really got the chance to keep it to ourselves until after the 12 week scan, but hey!
So you can imagine how big I was by 30 weeks.  I looked bigger than most expectant Mammas look at full term.  I remember walking into a shop one day at 31 weeks and the look of panic on the shop assistant’s face when she clocked the BUMP was hilarious.  She approached me and flew through the usual chitchat to get straight to her point.
  “When are you due love?”

I couldn’t help myself my Pretties.  It was out before I even thought about it.
“Ten days ago”, I answered, shaking my head and rubbing my big belly, “I’m hoping a walk around the shops will help get me started.” (added puffs for effect…pause as if whincing in pain…)

“Here let me help you!”  I swear to God, she ran around that shop filling  my wee basket so quickly, I really couldn’t keep up with her.

“All the best now Lovey, I hope all goes well!” she cooed after me as I left.  I’m pretty sure she needed a strong drink after that.  and yes, I shouldn’t have lied, but I was fed up.
For almost 10 months, you become the property of the world.  (and yes, it is 10 months…9 my arse.)
EVERYONE has an opinion.
“You’re so HUGE!”  (Really?  I hadn’t noticed.  Is that why my pelvis is dragging on the ground when I walk?)😐
“I was never as big as you!”  (Piss off.) 😐
“Aw poor Maria.  You must be scundered…”  (No Deary.  I’m just pregnant.)😐
“Well Tracy SAID you were huge but I didn’t think you were THIS HUGE!”  (Yup.  For this one, I had to kick my sister under the table to stop her from DESTROYING the unintentionally offensive woman.)😅
“Is it heavy?”   (In fairness, this question was from a lovely friend who has bever been pregnant so it was a genuine question and I gave her a genuine answer…”Yes.  I feel like I’m carrying an articulated fecking LORRY on my ladybits.”)
“I suppose you can barely move with that bump?”  (No.  I’m just back from Irish Dancing.  I’m high kicking Higher than ever before!)😂
“Aaaaaaah you’re not THAT big!”  OK, OK.  Who am I kidding?  I NEVER heard this one! 😅😂
“You must be nearly due?”  (No I’m only 28/30/32/34 weeks…cue shock/horror/sympathy/panic on their face.)
And these are only the few I remember.
And so maybe now, you understand why I played the trick.
Do I feel guilty? No, but I felt really fricken frustrated a few weeks later when I didn’t have the balls to go in with my even BIGGER Bump and I really wanted a certain cheese the lady stocked. 😆😆
But seriously, Stop it.  We all need to stop it. (And of course I include myself in this.  We ALL do it don’t we?)

In fairness, we don’t even realise we’re doing it.

The things we say to a pregnant lady are usually not intending ANY offence AT ALL.  Of course not.
But if you’re going to say anything, try not to comment on the bump.  
Tell her she looks glowing, even if you think she looks knackered.

 Tell her she’s gorgeous, even if she looks like the articulated lorry she feels like she’s carrying.

Tell her it suits her.  She might just need to hear that, but don’t comment on the size of the bump, regardless whether it’s big or small.
The Mammy who hears “You’re so neat”, might have spent the whole night up counting baby’s kicks, or panicking that her bump is too small compared to others. 😣

The Mammy who hears “You’re huge!” doesn’t need to be reminded.  Trust me, she already knows. She remembered once she opened her eyes this morning and tried, like an upturned turtle, to get out of the bed to pee. 😅
So keep it positive and keep it off the bump.

 And yes I know that many people don’t mind and maybe even enjoy the attention the bump brings, but unless you’re telling them their bump is gorgeous, just Ssssssh!
And then…THEN comes the Post Baby body Shaming but that’s another post altogether. I’ll save that for Moody-Mum Monday.
Goodnight you #GlammyMammies.
You’re beautiful and your bump is perfect.  That is all you need to hear. 

S-Mum  xxx

​It’s here.
It’s horrid.

But, like everything, it’s happening whether I like ot or not, so I have to pull up my “Big Girl” knickers and get over it. 😂💗😂
It’s the night before I finally add “outside of the hoouse” work to all the “Stay at home Mum” work I already do.  

Over the past week, more than a few people have said things like “You’ll be glad to get back into routine”, “Sure you’ve been off for AGES,” and even “It’ll give you something to do again”.  It seems to be assumed that being at home with two kids is simply an extended holiday; easy peasy.
What people often forget is that when a Mammy (or Daddy indeed) goes back to work, none of the “SAHM” work goes away.  

It just gets ADDED to. 

The cooking, cleaning, washing, shopping, surviving… It’s simply condensed into LESS TIME.😥😥
And that’s before the playing, teaching, growing, reading, and loving that our kids need from us.
Being a SAHM is hard work.

Working AND being a Mum is hard work.

Because, technically, we’re both.  Although we go out to another building to do our jobs for a few hours a day, we’re still also Stay at home Mums, because Mums NEVER switch off! 
My Mum has been a SAHM for 35 years.  She’s the hardest worker I know and her “career” was and still is,  us.  

She never got a sick day. She rarely even gets a “Her day”.  

Her salary?

 Slobbers and smiles and a few successful “Proud Mammy” moments along the way. 😅😍😍

  Each of us owes who we are and what we’re achieving every day, TO HER, WORKING to be everything we needed.  She’s raised 6 of us and is now helping us to raise OUR babies.  She might not have had to answer to a boss or fill out paperwork or wear a uniform, but she left her job to do THE single most important job in the world…full time.
And while I would give ANYTHING to give my girls the same dedication and security, I can’t.

 That’s just life. 
I know from my short maternity leaves from my job, how absolutely heart wrenchingly lonely being a SAHM can sometimes be.  When the only conversation you’ve had in a day was with a grumpy, tantruming toddler or a Babby whose vocabulary stretches only to “Dadada”; when you answer Mr. FECKIN TUMBLE, OUT LOUD; 😅 (admit it Ladybelles, we’ve ALL done it!), then you know the importance of companionship, of colleagues, of friends.
I can’t imagine what it was like for Mums before social media etc. 

 One of the few things I am genuinely looking forward to is spending some time with my colleagues. 

I’m lucky to work with real friends. They’ve stayed in touch and kept me included in the year I’ve been off.  For that alone, I’m blessed.
My biggest fear tonight is how my Brain is going to cope with all the EXTRA stuff: the new routine, the work, the prep, the marking, the stress, the Mini-Me at Big school, the tiredness, the THINKING.  How I’m going to FIT all of that, (even though it’s what I’ve done for 15 years without a thought! ), into my head on top of the mayhem of our Crazy frog lifestyle as it is, I DO NOT KNOW.
And yet I will.

(There may be a grape shortage in the next 6 months, just to warn you! 😅🍷)
By tomorrow night, I’ll feel like I was NEVER away. I know I’ll soon get back into the swing of things. I’ll manage, like every Mummy with a job does.

  I’ll feel guilty every day. I’ll hate leaving.  I’ll have days where I function on no sleep.  I’ll have days where I’m at work wishing I was at home with my girls.  I’ll constantly remind myself that I’m working for THEM; because reality doesn’t allow me to stretch this precious maternity leave for even another day.


So while I spend most of today sobbing like a twat everytime I looked at Princess and Mini-Me, I also had a lovely day with them.  The Him even took a bit of time away from Jim to join us. 🕵 Jim is probably huffing tonight, but SOMETIMES Crazy,  Highly emotional Wife is more important! 😂😂
We spent a blissful afternoon at Oakfield Park, visited lovely friends and then I came home and burned the dinner while Princess found a marker and drew ALL OVER HER FECKIN FACE! 😣😣😣


So yes, a significant but pretty normal day really…
Finished obviously with a little tipple, to celebrate having had the chance to be a SAHM for even a while, and to make myself feel a little bit bloody better about going back to my “other job” tomorrow.
Bubbles it is.

Cheers to the working parents, both in the workplace and in the home. 

You’re FABLIS. XXXXX 
SAHM 😙😙